


Your eyes are the most beautiful thing, it's a shame you can't see mine.

by JoshDunismyspiritanimal



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Bipolar Disorder, Colours, Depression, M/M, Soulmate AU, angst angst angst, eye colours, suicide ment
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-26
Updated: 2016-09-17
Packaged: 2018-05-09 14:43:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5543813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoshDunismyspiritanimal/pseuds/JoshDunismyspiritanimal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The world is black and white until you look into your soulmate's eyes.</p><p>Pete looks into Patrick's eyes and sees blue.</p><p>Patrick looks into Pete's and sees grey.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> This is just an introduction of sorts, I'll get the first chapter up as soon as I get home from Saratoga and have access to my laptop. My other fic will be updated asap

It's been a day.

It has been a day.

Pete sits at the kitchen table with a pen between his teeth, staring down at the hundreds of sheets of paper before him. Some are scribbled out, some crumbled into little balls, but most of them are just words. It's everything he could ever care about written down into words.

He doesn't know what the point is anymore. He's twenty-one and he hasn't had caught a glimpse of colour. Sure, some people have waited decades upon decades before seeing blues and greens and browns and reds, but Pete doesn't want to wait anymore. He /can't/ wait anymore.

The note he's leaving on the table gets weighted down by the vase in the middle of it, and every other paper gets thrown into the trash. He skins his eyes over it one more time before he goes.

'To everyone

I'm not going to make it tonight. It's not because you were bad parents or friends or family or anything, it's that I've not been a very good person. You all know what things are, how beautiful the world is, but all I can see are greys and whites and blacks. I have come to the conclusion that it's not worth waiting anymore. The universe hates me and never wanted me in the first place. Don't come looking for me, as I won't be anywhere near you. I'm catching a bus out of here as soon as possible. I'm sorry that I ruined everyone's lives.

Pete'

He doesn't stop to ponder over what people will think or do, he just leaves. The door to the house is locked like his parents always have it, because he doesn't want to arouse suspicion until they find the letter. It's important they don't find it until he's out of Chicago, or all of Illinois for that matter.

A couple of bottles of Pete's medicine is stuffed in the pocket of his hoodie. He plans to just down them and then hop on a bus.

He doesn't look both ways when he crosses the street because that's fucking dumb, but apparently the one time Pete doesn't listen to his parents is the one time he actually gets hit by a car.

He's vaguely aware of car doors slamming, somebody shouting at a 'Joe' to call 911, and then kneeling by Pete and looking him right in the eye.

It's the most beautiful thing Pete has ever seen, a cool shade of blue-green that swirls around in the irises of the eyes of the man above him. And then everything fades back into black.


	2. I feel like we were meant to be, I'm sorry I'm ruining everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pete wakes up in a strange place to a strange man with beautiful eyes.

The thing about waking up in a bed that isn't your own is that you panic.

Pete is wrapped up in a duvet, a top sheet tangled beneath it at his legs. His side is bandaged up and it hurts when he moves. There's a glass of water and a couple of pastel blue pills on the nightstand beside the bed he's in. He wonders what happened last night.

That's when it hits him.

Pills.

Pastel blue pills.

They are blue.

Not a boring grey.

He glances down at the duvet, which is a rich velvety purple with gold trim, and almost cries. Pete doesn't know who has made this happen, but he's going to answer that question.

The brunet sits up in the bed and winces at the pain in his side. He downs the pills and chases them with the cool water in the glass. The room's walls are a purpley-grey and the carpet on the floor is the same. A photo on the bedside table show three men, a ginger-blond, a guy with a chocolate brown fro, and the third with black or dark brown hair - he can't tell - that seems a bit too long but totally works with him.

Pete's still examining the photograph when the door to the room creeps open. "You're awake."

He looks over to see the ginger-blond, his voice full of relief, carrying a plate with some blueberry toaster waffles. His eyes are hidden behind thick-framed glasses, and the reflection of the sunlight from the window prevents Pete from seeing their colour. "I brought you some breakfast," he says, moving over and sitting down at the foot of the bed. He passes Pete the plate, and he takes it, stuffing a waffle in his mouth. "My name's Patrick. I'm sorry we hit you with our car, man. Joe was driving really fast and it's not a busy road and we had music blasting and it was just a mess. We should have been more careful. The hospital bandaged you up and said we were okay to take you home as long as you came back in a week to have your bandages and stitches checked."

Patrick pauses to take off his glasses and rub at his eyes. Pete realises now he was crying. Was he really that worried?

When his hands come away, Pete nearly gasps in shock. Patrick's eyes are swimming with a dark blue and green. They flash to a yellow-orange when he sees Pete staring. "Are you okay?"

"You're are are really pretty," he breathes, and Patrick pushes his glasses back up his nose.

"They're just blue, man," he says with a smile. "Yours are nice, too. What colour are they?"

"Brown?" Pete replies, confused as to why Patrick can't see them swimming and changing colours unless.

Oh god.

He's going to be sick.

"I never caught your name?" Patrick asks, and Pete replies weakly, "Pete."

Patrick ruffles his hair and leaves him alone with his waffles.

***

Of course.

Of fucking course.

He's finally found his soulmate, and they don't even match. Patrick is meant for him, but Pete? Not at all. He's not meant for anyone. His ex-boyfriend was right. He's a piece of shit who will never be loved by anyone.

Patrick lives with a couple friends, Joe and Frank. They've both been relatively nice to Pete, although they seem confused as to why he's so stunned by all the colours.

He's lived with them for two weeks now, saying he was meaning to move out anyway. None of them mind, they have an extra bedroom and they're all warming up to Pete really nicely. Patrick has been a really good friend. But that's it. Pete hasn't told him that they're soul mates. He doesn't think he ever will.

Today, Frank is hanging out with his boyfriend Gerard, and they're watching movies. Joe and Patrick ordered pizza and the three of them are hanging out in Joe's room. Pete's side still hurts like hell, but Patrick being around makes him feel better. He loves the look of light green in his eyes when they talk about music, and the shorter man goes on and on about what a genius David Bowie was.

Pete's phone has been dead the entire time. He knows his family will have found the note by now. Andy will have texted and called hundreds of times. They'll all have given up by this point.

Joe must see him looking at the black screen because he passes Pete a charger and directs him to the nearest outlet. As soon as the phone reaches a suitable charge, it starts buzzing like crazy. Patrick and Joe look over Pete's shoulder as he scrolls through texts.

"Dude," Patrick whispers. "Did you... Was that not an accident? Are you okay? Pete?"

Pete doesn't say anything, but he does tap out a reply to Andy.

'Hey man, got in a little accident, I'm fine, meet me at starbucks in 3 hours?'

The reply comes immediately in a phone call.

"Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz III, what the hell were you thinking!" Andy yells through the phone and Pete sighs. "Wait no, don't answer that, you weren't. Did you not think for one second that maybe there is someone out there for you, you fuck? What about me, huh? I'm still fucking grey but you don't see me jumping off bridges! Why didn't you come to me, man? Josh is alone too, don't pull this bullshit of being the only guy alone. And fuck yeah, I'll see you at Starbucks."

They're silent for a few minutes. He can hear Andy sniffling at the other end. "I'm sorry."

"Pete Wentz, I hate you so god damn much, I hope you know that," Andy grumbles in response. "Don't you dare do this ever again, you hear me? We're going to get you counselling and- where are you staying?"

"I'll tell you at Starbucks," he says softly. "But listen. I should go. I'm in a good place right now, don't worry, man. I'll see you later."

"I love you," Andy whispers.

"Love you too."

He hangs up and sighs, then shoves his phone in his pocket. "Soulmate?" Patrick asks, and Pete shakes his head.

"Andy. He's a good friend. I've known him for years."

They don't question him about the text messages or Pete's sort of suicide attempt. Patrick rocks out on the piano and Joe strums a guitar solo on an acoustic, and Pete wishes he had his bass. Instead he hums along and beats the tambourine against his palm as though his life depended on it.

***

After two and a half hours, Patrick offers to drive Pete down to the Starbucks. He accepts, and Gerard throws popcorn at them, booing, as they exit the apartment.

They drive in silence, and Pete is incredibly anxious about meeting his friend. Patrick hums along to a song playing inside of his head. It's a cute tune, one that Pete's never heard before.

"So," Patrick says once they've reached a stoplight. He grins at Pete. "When'd you meet your soulmate? I'm guessing it was recent because colours seem to baffle you a lot."

"Uh, yeah," he says, not meeting Patrick's eyes. They're a yellowish green: intrigued. "He's. He's really cute. We're taking it slow though. Um."

"You don't have to talk about him if you don't want to," Patrick interrupts, sensing Pete's hesitance. "We can just listen to the radio or whatever."

The radio is pointless, because just then they pull up outside Starbucks. "Thanks, 'Trick," Pete says, and his friend doesn't argue with the nickname. "Andy will drive me back. If that's okay. I can stay with him if-"

"You're welcome to stay with us," Patrick grins, and then he drives off, heading home. Pete sighs defeatedly and heads inside the store.

Andy is sitting by the window with a chai tea and a coffee just the way Pete likes it: black with some sugar and cream added. He sits across from his friend and wraps his cold hands around the cardboard cup of coffee. The ginger in front of him looks torn apart, and he has rings around his eyes. His hair isn't neat, and it looks unwashed, as do his clothes. Jesus, Pete's disappearance really did a number on him. "You should see Josh."

"I'm so sorry," he blurts out, nearly bursting into tears on the spot. "I fucked up, Andy. Oh god, I fucked up so bad. I was crossing the street and got hit by a car and my soulmate is really cute, he's a ginger-blond and he's got these amazing blue eyes, and oh my goodness, he's really talented and stuff, and I could go on all day about him and I've only known him for a few weeks."

Andy grins, his eyes light up, his hands wrap about Pete's and he laughs. "I'm so happy for you, man!" He seems genuinely happy, glad his friend has found the one person that's meant for him.

"Yeah," Pete whispers. "I would be, too." He slouches lower in the seat and pulls his hands away, covering his face and breathing out between his fingers shakily. "He sees grey, Andy."

His friend's smile drops uncertainly. "I don't understand."

"I'm not meant for him," Pete says quietly. "He's perfect for me in every way, and I'm not supposed to be his soulmate."

Andy stands up and comes behind Pete to wrap him in a tight hug. "Is that ever possible?" he whispers. "Okay, we need to talk to Josh, he majored in soulmate studies, this can't be possible, maybe he's just a late bloomer with colour? That's happened before, it happened with my parents. Pete, come on. We're going to Josh's place and we're going to talk to him about this. Okay?"

Pete just nods.

***

Josh's apartment is just as nice as Pete remembers it.

The entrance is nice, and elevators taken care of, and then they get to Josh's door.

It's opened by a man with a handful of tattoos, in nothing but boxers, a toothbrush hanging out of his mouth. "Hey, Andy," he says, and the calls over his shoulder, "Babe! Your friends are here!"

The man invited them inside and shakes hands with Pete. "I'm Tyler Joseph," he says, his voice warm, and Pete suddenly feels out of place. "You must be Pete. It's nice to finally put a name to a face."

"Yeah," he replies just as Josh comes out of his room, his hair mussed, looking hungover.

As soon as he spots Pete, he launches across the room and tackles him in a hug. "What the fuck, man! You can't fucking do this," he exclaims into Pete's borrowed Green Day t-shirt. It's Patrick's. It smells like him. "What were you thinking?"

"I wasn't," Pete says, and Josh pressed a kiss to his forehead before stepping back.

His hair is dyed a brilliant red colour now, his natural brown on the sides. It's a change from before, but it looks good on him, Pete can't argue. "Man," Josh sighs. "You look like shit. Who's shirt is that?"

Pete looks down and picks at the worn fabric. "Patrick's," he mutters, and Josh suddenly says, "oh. OH. Oh my god."

He ushers them all into the living room and Tyler offers to make hot chocolate for them all. Josh makes Pete sit next to him on the little couch, and Andy takes the chair. "Tell me everything."

The brunet starts with the basics.

"His name is Patrick. He's blond. And ginger. Whatever. He's got these amazing blue eyes and he's so pretty, and oh my fucking god, he smells wonderful and I want to cuddle him up and love him forever. But he doesn't see colour at all. He's stuck in the grey area."

"Late bloomer?" Andy suggests, and Josh leans forward.

He puts his elbows on the table and rests his chin on his knuckles. "How long have you know him, Pete?"

"Two weeks."

Josh looks horrified. "That's a long time for a late bloomer," he says quietly. "Pete, are you... Are you sure it was him and not someone else?"

"Positive. His eyes do that colour-changing thing."

"Shit."

Tyler comes in now and sets four mugs down on the table. He sits on the floor next to Andy's chair and reaches for one of the cups. Nobody talks.

Pete's going to cry.

***

Andy insists on bringing Pete back at ten. "If you're staying with them, they're bound to be worried," he says as they drive down the road in the dark. "If you ever need to get away, come to us. It's got to be hard, man. We love you, though."

"I know," Pete sighs. He stares out the window for the rest of the ride in silence.

He tells Andy the apartment number and they walk upstairs together. It's an awkward, static silence. Andy knows Pete isn't going to be happy with a soulmate who he isn't meant for, but he's letting him makes his own decision on the matter. It's going to be hard. He already hates himself for it.

Andy is the one to knock on the door. Joe is the one to answer. He seems glad to see Pete back and safe in one piece. Then he turns to look at Andy.

"Fuck."

Pete jumps quickly to the side when Joe goes to push past him, and before he knows it he has his friend pressed against the wall and their mouths pressed together. Andy lets out a little hum of happiness, and Pete can't help but wonder if this could have been him and Patrick.

***

They invite Andy inside, and he and Joe sit together on the couch, talking nonstop, learning about each other. Now another one of Pete's friends has a soulmate. Pete wants to hang himself.

"Are you okay?" Patrick asks, and Pete uses all his self control not to tell him the truth.


	3. You're trying to help me, but it's making everything worse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things have been getting kind of hard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mmm so I really only write this when I'm in a depressive mood and I've been pretty hypo-manic recently so I'm surprised I'm getting this up. Anyway, I start Testosterone either this weekend or next week so that's a thing!!

Andy comes over quite a bit over the next couple of weeks, as does Josh. While Pete is very happy for both of his friends, he has to admit, it hurts every time he sees Andy with Joe, or Josh with Tyler. Patrick’s picked up on Pete’s sensitivity to matters like these, and he’s asked Pete a couple of times if he’d like to be driven to visit his own soulmate – Pete isn’t allowed to drive anymore – but the brunet always says he’s fine, and declines politely.

Life kind of sucks right now.

The first real issue comes when they’re all eating pizza on the couch together, and watching the movie rendition of the musical Rent. They’re toward the end of the film, so of course they’re all bawling their fucking eyes out, and Pete goes to wrap his arm around Patrick’s shoulders and pull him into his chest.

He catches himself, though, and wraps his arms closely around himself. It’s good that they’re all already crying, because Pete’s pretty sure he cries even harder now.

None of them seem to notice, which is pretty good, and when they head to bed afterwards, Pete’s still wiping tears from his eyes. He shuts his door extra softly, slips into fresh boxers and a loose, soft t-shirt, and practically collapses onto the floor.

The brunet curls into a ball, hugging his knees to his chest and burying his face in the soft fabric of the shirt. He knows it’s one of Patrick’s almost instantly, can smell him, and that makes everything so much worse. Everything comes flooding back, all those feelings from before that stupid, stupid fucking car accident, and soon Pete’s soaked through the light fabric with tears. Everyone else in the house is asleep, and he’s just crying in the dark on the floor.

What a piece of shit.

Pete wishes he’d just looked both ways. Then maybe he wouldn’t have to deal with any of this anymore. He could just be floating in a void of nonexistence, like he’s wanted to be for so, so long.

His medicine is in the cabinet in the bathroom down the hall. It’d be so easy to just pop back a bottleful of pills and not have to deal with this ever again. He sits up and scrubs furiously at his eyes with his hands, his palms, his fingernails, until the skin around them is rough and sore and bleeding in places. He pulls at his hair and wants to scream. Why does everything have to suck so fucking much?

The decision isn’t even Pete’s to make anymore, he thinks as his sock-covered feet pull him down the hall, making gentle pattering sounds on the cold floor. The bathroom is freezing cold, and Pete wishes he’d brought a sweater, but it’s too late now. It’s too late for anything.

He leaves the lights off and opens the door to the medicine cabinet. It’s hard to see inside, and he squints, feeling around for the familiar push-and-turn child lock cap of his anxiety medication. When his hand wraps around the little orange bottle, Pete sighs with relief and closes the door softly.

He presses down on the cap and turns it. The maneuver is strange, but he’s used to it after years of taking medicines every day. Carefully, as quietly as he can, Pete shakes a few onto his hand. They’re menacing, blue and white, glaring at him in the darkness. Pete can practically hear what they’d be thinking.

Just fucking take them, you whiny piece of garbage. It’s not like anybody will care.

A soft cough pulls him from his thoughts, and Pete tears his gaze away from the pills in his hand to Patrick. He’s standing in the bathroom doorway, looking sleepy but terrified. His arms are wrapped tightly around himself, and his bottom lip is caught between his teeth, and he looks like he’s going to cry.

“Pete?”

Pete stares down at the tablets in his hand, unable to swallow. There’s an unexplainable lump in his throat, and it hurts. Breathing hurts.

Patrick takes a hesitant step forward, uncertainness obvious in his posture. His glasses aren’t on, Pete sees, once Patrick is closer and he can feel the warmth radiating from the smaller man’s body. The ginger just stares down at the pills in Pete’s hand. “Are…” He trails off, sounding choked. “Were you…”

Fuck this, Pete thinks, and wishes he’d been quicker because then maybe he’d be back in his room right now, falling asleep for the last time ever, instead of letting Patrick take the pills out of his hand and refilling the bottle and putting it away. He’s being led down the hall now, into Patrick’s room, and being covered in thick, warm blankets.

It takes a bit for Pete to realize that he’s actually sleeping cuddled with his soulmate. Patrick has his arms around Pete’s shoulders and his face buried in his neck, and he can feel warm wetness against the soft fluttering of Patrick’s lashes. “Is it really that bad?” he asks in a whisper, and Pete wants to scream.

He did this. He made his soulmate cry, and feel terrible. This is all his fault. God, why is everything Pete’s fault?

“I’m sorry,” he whispers back after a few moments, but he’s not entirely sure Patrick hears him.

***

Joe doesn’t come wake them up later, like he usually does by banging pots and pans in the kitchen, trying to make a decent meal while Frank complains about how they can’t eat dry cereal again, and somebody needs to buy more milk. So instead, Pete wakes up around one in the afternoon, cuddled up against Patrick’s chest.

His soulmate is scrolling down something on his computer, smiling, playing with Pete’s hair. It’s nice. It’s really, really nice. And Pete pretends to be asleep for a while after that, if just to bask in the moment of feeling loved. It doesn’t last long, though, and Patrick feels Pete move a bit restlessly against him and turns to look at Pete.

“I didn’t know how late you were going to sleep, and I didn’t know what would happen if I left,” he says quietly, and Pete feels sick again.

Yeah. Patrick doesn’t love him, what was he thinking? He was going to kill himself last night, of fucking course he was going to be concerned.

“Are you going to be okay?” Patrick asks, and Pete can’t breathe.

“I don’t know anymore.”


	4. not a chapter

okok so ive recently realised how yucky and problematic my username is here, and i've remade. im not abandoning this fic, im just moving it over to @angelboyfrnk on here!!! thanks for understanding, and i hope for your continued support 


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